


Heliocene

by aflaminghalo



Category: Batman (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Stormwatch (Comics), The Authority
Genre: Angst and Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs, Dry Humping, Frotting, Jealousy, M/M, PWP, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6391366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflaminghalo/pseuds/aflaminghalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heliocene

**Author's Note:**

> Set (and started, oops :) ) around Grayson #04.

The light wakes him – a weak, watery, morning light that crawls in through the thin hotel curtains and slinks beneath his eyelids to try and prise him from his sleep. But the little alarm clock isn’t blaring; the fire alarm isn’t shrieking; his phone isn’t vibrating its way across the top of the nightstand, and Dick isn’t getting up until he absolutely has to.

And the light keeps growing – brighter, hotter, more insistent. 

Dick burrows into his quilt, dragging one of the heavy hotel pillows over his face. He fights waking the way free-divers fight floating, clawing his way back down into the cozy depths of sleep. 

A scald of light shears through the thin skin of his eyelids as his pillow disappears, yanked from under the arm that anchors it. His drowsiness disappears in an instant, evaporating in the sudden pain, and he springs upright; unsteady on the mattress but ready to defend himself, ready to fight. He mashes one hand across his eyes, trying to block the painful rays, and lashes out with his free hand. He connects with air. 

There’s a flash of intense heat, then another that smashes him back against his mattress. It feels like he’s been dropped into a blast furnace - he can’t breathe; the air’s too hot, the heat too thick, too tight around his ribcage. The simmering weight anchors him down, as heavy and ungiving as granite. 

The light recedes slowly. Dick follows its ebb through his throbbing eyelids as it settles into something closer to candlelight than a supernova. He opens his eyes cautiously, not wanting to be blinded again, then blinks them back into use, working through the shadows and floaters and glare. 

The weight is a man. Blue eyes, pale golden skin, white blonde hair, and all the light illuminating the room seems to emanate directly from him. He’s hovers inches above Dick like an angel of wrath wearing blue jeans and pushing down on Dick’s chest as though it’s the most casual thing in the world to be trying to press someone to death. 

“You don’t impress me.” His voice is rough and low; intent in a way that Dick can’t quite parse. 

“Well this isn’t how I normally entertain in bed.” Dick wheezes his words. Beneath the man’s hands it’s hard to breathe out or in. 

The shining face hardens until it looks like it might splinter. The big hands press down on Dick’s chest with even more force. When Dick hits the bottom of his breath there’s no space for a new one, space only for the panic that’s welling in the base of his stomach to flood up and fill. He’s got no leverage, no room to manoeuvre. He braces his legs against the mattress, trying to tilt his body enough to reach the man’s face and throat. If he had his sticks, he could manage it, but he doesn’t and he can’t. 

The man takes Dick’s flurry of blows like they’re a gust of snowflakes, but he stops suffocating Dick, finally, clamping his forearms down against the bedcovers instead. The movement is patronising in its gentleness, like he’s restraining a toddler throwing a tantrum. Dick gasps, desperate and greedy and tries not to choke on the sudden rush of oxygen. 

With breath comes voice. Dick tries again. “You’re Apollo, right? Stormwatch. You work with Midnighter.” 

“Work with? Is that what he says?” Apollo’s face dims, like a cloud’s moved in front of the sun. 

“He doesn’t…” Dick stops, unsure of how to navigate his next sentence; of how to talk down a man who, if he chooses to be, is a walking solar flare. 

“He doesn’t what?” 

The air swells with heat. Dick can feel himself dampening with sweat, can feel trickles of it building at his hairline and the dip of his throat, can feel the bruises patterning his chest and arms waiting to bloom. 

“Don’t play games with me.” Apollo’s grip on Dick’s arms tightens. “Don’t even think about playing games.” 

“He doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t said anything. Look,” Dick opens his face as much as he can, tries to telegraph that he’s telling the truth, that he can be trusted; that he’s not, of all things, Midnighter’s side guy. “The only times I ever see Midnighter, he’s either trying to kill me or sabotage me. That’s it, I swear.” 

Apollo lowers his face until it’s an inch away from Dick’s. The heat that pours out of him prickles like sunburn. Dick doesn’t struggle against Apollo’s grip again. He tries to stay calm and does the breathing exercises designed to keep his pulse down. 

It’s impossible to bring his pulse down. Apollo’s spread out above him and so close to him they’re nearly touching. Dick can feel his heat seeping through their clothing, into his body; can feel the response in his body to that heat, in the part of him that’s always looking for danger, in the part of him that wants it. His stomach twists at the way he’s being held down with so little effort. There’s no way he can push him off or beat him away. It’s frightening, but it’s so familiar, so... 

“We don’t have to do this, you know. Fight.” His mouth’s so dry it feels like he has to chew the words to get them out. He stretches his fingers, just a millimetre more, and holds them to the back of Apollos arms; a gentle touch, a request. 

There’s a blade of knowing in Apollo’s face; something sharp and alert and amused. Dick feels himself reach for his Hypnos. He knows better than this, has been trained better that this. He should have ended it already. But… he hates the Hypnos. Hates the way they feel feels like a crutch in a way none of his other skills and weapons ever have. 

“No? And what would we do instead?” 

Dick flushes again at the purr in Apollo’s voice, at the mocking tone in it; the way it draws his focus to his mouth. The mouth that kisses Midnighter, and god, that’s a strange thought – that Midnighter might kiss someone, might ever be tender. That Midnighter has that when Dick doesn’t. 

He tears his eyes away from Apollo’s mouth, forcing himself to make eye contact. “We could talk. About it. About whatever you want to.” He flexes his arms slightly against Apollo’s grip. “I mean, I’m not going anywhere, right?” 

“Talk? Are Spyral training therapists now? You’re going to take over the world one talking cure at a time?” 

“We’re not…” 

“He doesn’t, I don’t, we’re not…” Apollo sing-songs Dick’s words back at him, then sighs dropping his head. “Christ. You’re just one more poor boy, aren’t you? You don’t know who you are, what you’re doing, or who’s yanking the strings. ” 

Apollo kneels over Dick, bringing himself back under gravity’s power with all the grace of a big cat climbing down from a tree. 

Dick can feel the sliding, pushing sensation that surrounds flyers dissipate. It reminds him of Kori and of Clark, of so many other friends and enemies. Reminds him of the life he had, of a time when he was younger and taking so much glee in pushing Bruce and his boundaries. 

A learning experience, Bruce had called it, and it had probably only lasted ten minutes, but trapped face down beneath Clark, squirming helplessly against the cold cave floor, it had felt like was going to last forever. He’d twitched and ached; kept on the edge and terrified of humiliating himself in front of the two men he’d looked up to more than anyone. It had been years before he’d realized, let himself realize, that of course Superman had known, that he’d been enjoying it too. 

“They promised you car chases, and guns, and beautiful girls and boys, didn't they? And you were just stupid enough to think you were smart enough to out-think them.” There's a bitter edge in Apollo’s voice. 

“Is that what they promised you?” Dick feels like his entire body is throbbing along to his heartbeat. He twists his arms out of Apollo’s grasp; slowly, gently, no fight in them, and slides his hands along Apollo’s triceps. They feel like steel ropes. “I know what it’s like to have a life taken away from you. I know what it’s like to live with broken promises.” Dick grasps him gently, sitting up as much as he can. “I know what it’s like to never catch the thing you’re chasing.” 

Apollo’s hand is massive and covers Dick’s throat almost completely. He pushes Dick’s chin up with his thumb to study his face. 

"You know I will if I have to, but I don't want to fight.” Dick braces himself for the fire. 

“No. No you don’t, do you? You’re brave, but you’re not foolish.” He tilts Dick’s head a little more, changing the angles, silently making his judgement. 

Apollo’s expression is cool and distant; a winter sun rather than the furious radiance of before. Free of the mockery and outright anger he looks how a Sun God should look, Dick thinks, beautiful but distant. There’s a constant halo of heat haze surrounding the blonde; it makes him hard to look at, makes him seem as though he’s a step removed from all the real things on Earth. That’s not really fair though. Dick’s seen enough tonight to know that Apollo, like everyone, is very much at the mercy of the world. There’s no power to save you from that. 

Apollo brushes his mouth across Dick’s. A calm kiss, controlled, dragging at Dick’s bottom lip just a little as he ends it. It’s not even half a surprise, if Dick’s honest with himself. It’s not the first time he’s had a fight turn into something else. Contrary to all his expectations it’s happened less since he quit the spandex and taken up with Spyral, but he still knows how to handle it. 

How does he want to handle it? He’s practised in rebuffing unwanted advances, practised in accepting the rest. It should be easy - Apollo came here to scare, to hurt him. And he has, but maybe not in the way he intended to. The man’s presence grazing a nerve that’s been raw for too long. Dick’s not convinced he’s not doing the same thing to Apollo either. 

Apollo’s hands slide to the hem of Dick’s t-shirt, settle at Dick’s hips, as he waits for his answer. 

“I’m not…” Into men, Dick wants to say, stops himself from saying. He isn’t even sure if that’s the truth right now. He’s been so many people lately, all his bases, all his assumptions have shifted. He isn’t sure how that sentence found its way into his mouth. One last, too late, attempt at self-preservation, maybe. 

“Yes, I’m starting to get the idea.” Apollo draws back even further, his expression sharp and amused again. “Is that a problem?” The light he exudes catches in his pale hair and makes him look softer than he really is, more appealing. The heat he gives off has changed too, into the kind that warms rather than destroys. Dick wants to press himself into it, wants to absorb it, wants to pull it all right into his centre. He’s been out in the cold for so long. 

“No. No, not at all.” 

Apollo pulls Dick closer and kisses him again, harder now, with more heat, more want. His hands skate up over Dick’s sides, tracing a ticklish invisible route, pushing his t-shirt away. Dick raises his arms to help. 

With the first piece of clothing gone, Apollo grasps Dick’s hips, pulling him down the bed, where there’s space enough for him to cover Dick with his body again. He leaves no distance between them now though, pulling Dick against him, letting Dick feel all his weight, grinding against him and catching both their gasps with his mouth. 

It’s not until the seam of Apollo’s jeans catch Dick that he realises how hard he is. The ridge of denim catching him at just the right angle, making him buck up hard into Apollo, trying to get, for one uncontrolled moment, all of everything right now. Apollo doesn’t seem to mind, grasping his ass as Dick clings to him, holding himself, rocking himself, right where Dick needs him. Their kiss degenerating from want into sloppiness, tongues sliding against each other as they rut with less and less finesse. 

Apollo pulls away, finally. Leaning his forehead against Dick’s for a moment before pulling back. He doesn’t look distant anymore, his face is flushed and his chest heaving. 

“God.” Dick wipes his mouth, his chin, both wet and sticky with their spit. 

“No. We killed him.” Apollo tongues at Dick’s nipple, tugging it gently between his teeth, making Dick moan before he can question him. He traces the little tip of flesh then sucks it hard. Dick arches off the bed again, crying out from the contact, from the little static trails it laces through his body, making him throb like a thunderstorm. 

Apollo hums in agreement and pushes the waistband of Dick’s pyjama pants down, sliding down the mattress with them. He tips Dick’s hips up, big hands holding him wide open as Dick settles his legs on his shoulders. 

This isn’t something Dick’s had before and where Apollo’s tongue touches is… it makes Dick want to thrust into it forever. He can feel the sweet teasing contact spread through his body becoming something harder, something more, until it pulses up his cock and he can feel the pre-cum stream out of himself, the hot gush ticklish as it runs out over him. He grabs himself, hard. He can’t move, can’t thrust. If he does anything other than squeeze himself it’ll all be over. 

Apollos making him wet, he realizes - spit and that not quite cum, and a distant part of him, a part that’s not writhing, mindless at the sensation, wonders if it’s going to be enough, but with the first blunt push of Apollo’s finger, as it finds that perfect spot and stays there, that part quiets and cries and writhes with the rest of him. 

And it hurts, just a little, just a sting at the edges that won’t let Dick lose himself completely, that keeps him edging, as Apollo kisses him there as thoroughly, makes him as wet there as he did his mouth, and shows Dick that all he needs is a finger to break him down. 

Every contact calls to him, overwhelms him. It’s impossible to pick, to press forward onto Apollos tongue or down against his finger; to make Apollo lap harder at that hypersensitive wrinkle of skin that makes him feel like he’s turning to liquid, or to get more of his thick digit against Dick’s prostate, to feel the electricity it sends up his spine. All he wants is something just over the edge, just a half step more than what he’s getting. 

Apollo’s tongue leaves its target. Dick reaches down, trying to push him back, to get more of the delicious twisting of Apollo’s tongue, but he can’t move him. 

“God, that’s…” 

“Better than fighting?” 

“Yes.” Dick sighs, submits as Apollo brushes his hands away from his erection and replaces them with his mouth. 

The heat of Apollo’s skin is nothing compared to the swelter he carries inside himself. He sucks Dick in, as far as he can, rolling his tongue against his cock, attacking Dick in earnest now, showing him how pointless it is to fight any of it. 

With Apollo’s mouth almost scalding him and a practised finger beating a tattoo against his prostate Dick bucks and cries, fisting his hands tight. The sensation strips through him like a fire, razing everything that lies in its path. Dick’s hips snap helplessly as his body chases every sensation that Apollo brings up in his body. 

Apollo swallows and Dick’s mind turns off. 

Apollo strokes Dick’s thigh carefully as he disengages himself, lets him bask in non-verbal euphoria before moving up the bed to lie next to Dick. His fingers stroke gently at Dick’s temple, letting him know it’s his turn. 

His hands don’t feel like his own. None of his body does. Dick feels shaky still, and weak, his body stripped of all its connections. But he pops the buttons on Apollo’s jeans, staring at the ridge straining the material like he’s watching a movie, until he’s done. Apollo lifts his hips so Dick can pull them down and cast them off. He settles himself back between Apollo’s legs. Everything he’s been rubbing against for the past half hour is there for him to see, thick, sticky with smears of pre-cum, and framed in neatly groomed hair that’s just as pale and shining as the rest. Dick hesitates before reaching for it. He can feel Apollo’s eyes on him, eager and patient. 

Apollo closes his hand over Dick’s own tentative grip and sets the pace, thrusts himself up into the tight tangle of fingers. “You know how to do this, right? 

“I’ve actually got this one.” 

“Just let me know if you need any pointers.” 

Dick smirks, ducking his head at Apollo’s knowing eyebrow. He continues the rhythm Apollo started, and thrums his thumb over the head of his cock, noting the twitch in Apollo’s hips, the way the bigger man stretches back, relishes it. 

It’s strange to be touching a cock that’s not his own, but it’s not unappealing. It’s even tempting to touch himself, but he’s still too raw, and jerking himself and Apollo off might need more co-ordination than he has right now. But there was a challenge in Apollo’s words, and he’s never been good at ignoring those. 

He slides down the bed and licks a stripe over the soft hair that coats Apollo’s balls, gently tracing his teeth across them. Apollo gasps, and bedded down between his thighs, the sound seems far away, but it encourages Dick to do it again and again, feeling the big body surrounding him as it twists and arches in response. He can feel the heavy pulse in Apollo’s dick straining against his grasp, the tension in the calves pressing against his shoulders, wanting to squeeze him but trying not to hurt him. The little sighs and noises fall out of Apollo much freer now and it makes something in Dick relax too. He pushes himself up, trailing a line along the underside of Apollo’s cock with his tongue, then slides his mouth around the thick flesh before he can give himself time to think about it. Dick’s lips hit the edge of his hand, and he thinks about all the blow jobs he’s ever received and the things that felt the best. It’s hard to translate things that happened through a fog of need into action though, and he just does the best he can, rolling his tongue against the hard flesh and sucking as he pulls his head up. He must be doing something right because one of Apollo’s big hands clamps down on his shoulder, urging him back down. 

He doesn’t taste right, no not right, usual. Dick couldn’t say where that knowledge comes from, only that there’s something about Apollo, deep in his make-up, that’s human and something else that’s not. It’s compelling though, as it fills his nostrils and coats his tongue, makes him suck a little tighter, push a little deeper. 

Dick gags and pulls another ragged thrust out of Apollo. 

Part of being Robin, part of being himself has always been about finding the limits and then throwing himself over them. He braces his arms against Apollo’s sides and, when Apollo surges up, pushes his head down harder again. The hand moves from his neck to the back of his head, and he opens himself as much as he can, letting his eyes water, letting Apollo go, letting him fuck Dick’s mouth. It’s fast and hard and feels like he might choke again, but that part of him that’s always ready to throw him off rooftops is in control now, pushing him into it, pushing him completely into it. 

And then he’s flooded and choking, swallowing and coughing around the burn in his throat as Apollo holds him tight against his cock, tight against his hips, shuddering and shaking with his orgasm. 

Apollo's grip loosens and Dick flops down, resting against his thighs. His jaw aches, his eyes are watering. The wallpaper behind the headboard is singed and neither of them can do more than lie there, spent. 

“Well this _is_ a turn up for the books.” 

Dick jerks at the rough voice, but Apollo’s big hand is still stroking his neck and keeps him pressed to the crease of his thigh. From his vantage point Apollo looks lazy and triumphant – a Sun God again. Dick takes his cue from that because if there’s etiquette for this Alfred never covered it. He should ask Bruce the next time he speaks to him. Or ask Helena if there’s a course he could take. It’s probably Spy 101, another thing she’ll roll her eyes at him for. 

“So. I came looking for you.” Midnighter’s fixing his gloves, not bothering to look at them. 

“And you found me.” 

“You know, you’re meant to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow, not property damage and charring.” 

“I went looking for you.” Apollo’s voice is matter of fact and utterly relaxed. 

Midnighter gestures down at Dick, still sprawled between Apollo’s legs and trying to mirror his casual pose. “Well I don’t know why you think you’d find me in there.” He sounds offended and amused. 

Dick lets himself relax an inch. It’s possible that he’s not going to die today. 

Apollo sits up, reaches out. Midnighter crosses the room and settles on the bed next to him, leaning over Dick, pressing him down as he takes his own kiss. Dick’s view is blocked, but his hearing’s not; the soft noises deepening, becoming more than a kiss, more than physical. He’s squashed down even more between them, and Midnighter reaches back to grasps Dick’s ass. The coarse material of his gloves is still icy from being outside and it cuts through Apollo’s heat like a knife. 


End file.
